Politics
by nebulosity
Summary: Grissom's lack of political savvy gets him in more trouble than he ever expected. Rated T for violence and language.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: The usual disclaimers apply.The characters aren'tmine, no money is exchanging hands, etc

Grissom rose from the floor, pushing himself with one hand to take some of the pressure from his creaking knees. Once he was fully upright, he lifted his head and found himself staring into the barrel of a gun only two feet from his face. His eyes widened, his heart pounded, and his breathing grew shallow, but aside from these subtle signs he appeared calm. His gaze moved from the weapon up to the face of a young adult male.

"Don't move!" the man yelled, the volume startling in the silence. "I'll do it, man, I'll shoot!" Sweat poured down the man's face, but his hands held the gun steady. "Hands up, now!"

Slowly, Grissom raised his arms away from his body, fighting to regain control of his breathing as he felt himself grow light headed. "You don't need to do this," he told the young man, his voice low and calm. "Whatever you've done, shooting me is only going to make it worse."

"I ain't done nothin', man! That's the thing! You cops say I did it, but I didn't, but you ain't gonna believe me, I know it, so hey, if I'm goin' to jail, might as well take one o' you anyway, right?"

"I'm not a cop," Grissom corrected gently. "I'm a scientist. If you're innocent, I can prove it. But if you shoot me, you lose any chance you might have had." He kept his focus on the eyes staring back, praying to see some calm enter the gaze.

The young man's chest heaved erratically. "The cops held me for fifteen hours, kept saying they know I did it. Where were you then!"

Grissom's mouth tightened for a moment. "I didn't know the police were questioning a suspect," he bit out. "They should have contacted my team." His pulse started speed up, and he took deep breaths to stay calm. This was not the time to lose his temper. "In fact, you may have grounds to file a complaint against the officers who held you."

His calm demeanor was working, the tension in the man's shoulders lessened and his breathing steadied. "You serious? This ain't some story you're tellin'?"

"May I ask you a question?"

The gunman hesitated before giving him a jerky nod.

"What were the names of the officers who held you?"

"Shit man, I don' know. Ferminsky? Formsky? Some sky shit like that."

A bad feeling started forming in Grissom's gut. "Fromansky?"

"Yeah, that's the dude," he affirmed with a sharp nod. "And he had some jerk named Murdock with 'im."

Grissom heaved a heavy sigh. "May I ask another question? Why did you come here?"

"They kep' saying all this terrible shit man, 'bout how I raped this girl with a knife! And cut the skin off her hands, and fucking scalped her, and…" his voice trailed off with a sob. "And they had these pictures of this girl, and this blood, and they wouldn't get out of my head, man! Those cops let me go, and I was cryin' like a baby 'cause I couldn' believe anyone could do that to someone, ya know? I mean, I ain't stupid, I know there's some shitty people out there, but man, that blood, and that poor girl…" Tears ran down his face and more sobs escaped, and the hands holding the gun began to shake.

Carefully, with his hands still held high, Grissom took a step forward. "There are some terrible people out there," he spoke softly. "And it's my job to help put them in jail so they can't do it again. That's what I was doing, looking for more evidence to find the killer."

"How're you s'posed to find this guy if you're going after me?"

"I wasn't," Grissom answered firmly. "I promise you, at no point in our investigation were you ever a suspect."

"You promise! And how do you know? I ain't told you my name?"

Grissom's arms ached, the continued adrenaline rush drained him, but he stayed focused on the young man in front of him. "I know because I interviewed our only suspect two hours ago, and it wasn't you."

"So you got some evidence saying this guy did it?" the gunman asked hopefully.

"Yes, we do." Grissom cocked his head towards his kit. "May I show you something?"

The young man chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before deciding, "Left hand only. And go slow!"

Grissom took three careful steps towards the silver box and lowered himself to his knees, reaching out with his left hand to keep his balance. He retrieved three bindles, each misshapen with their contents. He rose and held the paper envelopes out for the other man to see. "During the interrogation, the suspect spoke of things he couldn't have known without being present during the crime, and referred to things we didn't know. I came back to find that evidence, which I did. With this evidence, and the evidence collected earlier, I have no doubt we'll get a conviction."

Finally, the gunman showed signs of calming down. "And I can complain 'bout those cops, right?"

"Yes. I don't know the whole story, but I believe Officers Fromansky and Murdock were completely out of line." Gil caught the gunman's gaze with his own and held it, allowing some of his ire to show. "Not only do they lack the authority to question a suspect on their own, they should have called me to process you. The fact that they didn't tells me they knew what they were doing was wrong."

"Yeah man, 'cause that was messed up. Those pictures, I mean, I ain't ever seen a dead person before, and now she won't leave my brain…"

"Yes, it was terrible, but we have the man who did it," Grissom interrupted gently, trying to regain control of the situation before the other man grew too distraught "I understand why you're upset, and I don't blame you. If you give me the gun, we can go to the station now to file the complaint, and no one has to know what happened here."

The gunman's eyes widened, and the tension returned. "Oh shit, what'd I do, pulling a gun on a cop, oh man, I totally screwed up this time, my mom always said I'd end up in jail, I'm too stupid to do anything else, and she was right and I'm so screwed-"

"It'll be okay," he quickly reassured him. "It's not your fault, and I don't blame you." Grissom dropped the bindles back into his case and took a couple of careful steps forward. "It will be okay," he repeated, reinforcing the words with his stare. "I can help you, you haven't done anything wrong yet."

The two men stared at each other in the still room, their strained breaths the only sound. The younger man's finger twitched and Grissom tensed, but the trigger wasn't pulled.

Both men jumped when Jim's voice sounded from downstairs, "Hey Gil, you up there?" They heard his footsteps on the stairs.

"There's still time, give me the gun now," Grissom urged. "You don't have to go to jail over this, you can go home."

"No, no, it's too late man, too late," the gunman panicked.

"No it's not, just give me the gun and it can all go away," he pleaded.

Brass's steps grew closer and Grissom wracked his brain for a way to resolve the situation before the captain reached the doorway. Slowly, he stepped forward, lowering his arms slightly, his gaze still locked with the other. He stopped when his chest was barely inches from the muzzle. "This is it," he pressed. "Any second now he'll walk through that door. You're not a bad man, no matter what they said in your interrogation. You don't have be become one now, either." He reached out with his left hand and put it over the gun. "All you have to do is let go."

Grissom's back was turned to the doorway, so he didn't see Brass's arrival, but when the gunman finally looked away Gil took action. He used the distraction to push the barrel away from his heart while moving to the other side at the same time. He wasn't fast enough, however, and with the bang of the weapon discharging he felt the fire of the bullet tearing through his shoulder. With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor, turning in during the fall to see Brass at the door with his gun drawn. "Police! Drop your weapon!" he yelled.

"Jim!" Grissom choked out. "Don't shoot! Please."

The young man was frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock, and Grissom wondered if he'd heard Brass's warning at all. He started to pull himself up when a shock of pain from his shoulder stole his breath. He groaned and fought to stay upright.

The young man dropped the gun at the sound. "No, no, wha'd I do, I didn't mean it! No way man, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Brass wasted no time. As soon as the weapon was released, he ran across the room, turned him around and pushed him against the wall. The young man put up no resistance. "Put your hands on your head," Jim growled. He holstered his gun and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "You're under arrest for shooting an officer." The shooter's right hand was pulled down and locked into a cuff. "You have the right to remain silent." The left hand was given the same treatment.

Gil sat on the floor and watched, feeling disassociated from the scene. The gunman was still muttering apologies and Brass was reading him his rights, yet he couldn't connect it with the standoff from only a few moments earlier. He looked down at his right shoulder, at the hole created by the bullet, and stared in wonder. In his career, he'd seen thousands of bullet holes, but this was the first time the hole was in his own clothing. He stared, and pondered whether or not it should look any different.

"Hey Gil, how're you holding up."

Grissom looked blankly at Jim, who was crouched down beside him. "When did you get here," he muttered quietly. "You shouldn't be here yet."

"Ah damn. Just hold it together a few more minutes, all right? The ambulance is on its way."

"No paramedics," he muttered. "They mess up the scene." He started to fall backwards, but Jim stepped around and caught him, letting the injured man rest against his chest as he settled onto his knees.

"Come on Grissom, stay with me here, you've already processed the scene, remember? You called and said you were bringing some stuff to the lab."

"Am I late for work?"

This time the mumbling was barely audible, and Jim tightened his grip. "Don't you do this, you hear me? We're gonna sit here and wait for the ambulance, and you're gonna get patched up and buy me a drink, you hear?"

"I killed him, I'm a murderer, my mom was right…" the shooter mumbled from his corner.

"Hey, shut up!" Brass yelled. He heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the sirens. "Just one more minute buddy," he told Grissom. "That's all we need, just hold on for one more minute, it's all I ask."

Thirty seconds later the reinforcements radioed in, asking for his status. "I have one suspect in custody, haven't seen anyone else. CSI Gil Grissom is shot and is holding on but fading fast."

A moment later, he heard the officers downstairs as they cleared the first floor before moving up the stairs. He was torn between gratitude that they were following procedure, and impatience to get Gil taken care of. The battle didn't last long as two officers ran into the room, their guns drawn and pointed at the floor. The first one yelled clear to his colleagues down the hall and hurried over to secure the shooter while the second holstered his gun and walked over to Brass. "The paramedics are right outside," he reported. "We should have the house cleared in just moment."

Grissom mumbled something about shoes.

Brass heaved a huge sigh of relief when he saw the three men wheel in the stretcher. Once Gil had been lifted away he stood unsteadily as the circulation returned to his feet. "Are you injured, sir?" a paramedic asked.

"Huh?" It took Brass a moment to realize who the man was talking to. "Oh, no, just sore, the floor is hard."

"And the blood?"

Brass looked down at his chest, shocked to see the red stain covering his shirt and jacked. "No, it's all his. Damn, no wonder he was fading out."

He watched the paramedics strap Grissom to the stretcher and wheel him off. After giving the uniforms instructions to book the shooter, he tried to follow but was stopped by Sheriff Atwater. "What the hell happened here, Captain?" the sheriff yelled.

"I killed him, I'm evil, I didn't want to really-" the shooter wailed.

"Shut up!" Brass yelled. He took a breath to calm himself before answering. "I'm not entirely certain. When I arrived, I found Gil Grissom being held and gun point by the young man over there. My arrival distracted the shooter, and Gil tried to use it to get away but was shot in the process. I arrested the shooter and called for backup."

"And how did you know to come here?" Atwater pressed.

"After interrogating our suspect, Gil came back to look for corroborating evidence. He called me and said he'd found it and was bringing it to the lab. When he didn't return, I got worried and came here."

"Did you fire any shots?"

"No sir. Shortly after shooting Gil, he dropped the gun on his own."

"I'll need your weapon anyway."

Brass placed his weapon in the sheriff's outstretched hand.

"They're taking Gil to Desert Palms. You can make your official statement there." He stopped and stared at the blood on Brass's suit. "Is that all Gil's?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Hey, uh, did the paramedics say anything about his condition?" Jim asked just as softly.

"No, they were rushing to get him to the ER." Atwater turned to look around the rest of the room. "This is the scene of the Jody Holcomb murder, isn't it?" At Brass's nod, he looked at Grissom's kit lying open on the floor. "If I let the night shift take this, think they can handle it?"

"It's pretty basic, not a lot to process. As long as everyone dots their i's and crosses their t's, we'll nail this guy."

"Good." The sheriff looked at Brass's suit. "Go home and shower before you go to the hospital. And call me as soon as you know anything about Gil's condition." He turned around and left.

Brass watched him leave, delaying the moment when he pulled out his cell phone and punched in the speed dial. "Hey, it's Jim. Listen, Catherine, I have some bad news."

TBC


	2. At The Hospital

A/N- Wow, thanks for the reviews! I'm aiming to update at least once a week, more if the muse allows. This is my first story, so I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Brass ignored the sheriff's order, taking only enough time to change into a clean t-shirt from his trunk so that he arrived at the hospital before the others. He rushed into the emergency room and flashed his badge at the counter. "Captain Brass, LVPD. What can you tell me about Gil Grissom? He was brought in with a gun shot wound."

The woman stared at his badge for a second before turning to the computer. "Sure, uhm, here he is. He's in trauma room three, they're prepping him for surgery now."

"Thanks," he threw out and pushed away from the counter. He was all too familiar with the emergency room layout and stalked past the curtained areas before stopping at the trauma room window. With one hand raised he leaned against the glass, watching as doctors and nurses moved around his friend. Jim could hear the beeps of various monitors and the orders called out by the doctors, and though the glass muted the volume their urgency still carried through. He was grateful for the staff's professionalism, he didn't think he could handle it if their urgency turned into panic.

"Hey Jim," Catherine said quietly as she walked up next to him. "Any news?"

"Not yet. Figured I'd ambush the ER doc when they take him upstairs."

"Good plan," she nodded faintly. The sigh that escaped her lips blew her hair away from her face. "Damnit Jim, how the hell did this happen!" Her voice started to break and she hit the wall with her fist. "I mean…" Tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he spoke when she didn't continue. "You'd think with all the stupid stuff he's pulled it would have happened a lot sooner, but to happen now, at a cleared scene, with the suspect in custody…" He shook his head faintly. "I guess his luck finally ran out."

"Don't say that Jim, not now," Catherine bit out.

Brass's mouth twisted with regret. "Yeah, sorry," he apologized quietly.

The activity in the trauma room changed as the team prepared to move Grissom's gurney. Catherine and Jim moved closer to the door, careful to stay out of the way, so that when the gurney was pushed through they had their first good look at their friend. "Oh my god," Catherine gasped. Brass was more stoic, but even he winced at the sight. Grissom's skin was ashen, his face lifeless, and a tube stuck out of his mouth grotesquely while a nurse worked the bag attached at the end. He tore his gaze away from the bag and tube and their implications and focused on the staff instead, studying faces and ids until he found the person he was looking for, the doctor who hung back after the gurney was removed.

"Excuse me, doctor?" He held out his badge. "What can you tell me about that man's condition."

The doctor stripped off her gloves and ran a hand through her sweaty scalp for a moment before answering. "It's touchy right now. He lost a lot of blood and his pressure is dangerously low. They're taking him to the OR to repair the vascular damage and stop the bleeding." She gave them a look of sympathy. "I'm afraid we'll have to wait for the surgeon to find out more."

A nurse further down the hall called out, and the doctor mumbled her excuses as she hurried towards the next emergency.

Catherine searched the halls for a moment before turning back to Brass. "I need visit the little girls room. Wait here until I get back?" Without waiting for an answer she walked strode down the corridor.

Jim leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh and ran his hand over his face. He tried to focus on the case, on the witness statements that would need to be taken, the evidence the CSIs should collect, but the images of Gil fading away while Brass held him kept taking their place. He remembered the warmth, realizing only now that it had been Grissom's blood, and that there was still a thin, dry layer on his chest.

"Hey, there you are!" Nick yelled at him halfway across the ER.

Grateful for the distraction, he ignored Nick's lack of decorum and waited for him and the rest of the graveyard shift to get close enough to talk without yelling. Predictably, they barraged him with their questions at the same time. "How is he?" "What happened?" "Was he really shot?"

"Whoa, whoa," Brass held up his hands to fend off the questions. "Take it easy. They just took him up to surgery. It was close, but the doc said he chances are good." Catherine returned just as he made the statement, and he pushed on before she could correct him. "Since it occurred at one of your scenes, and since the shooting's an easy case, the sheriff is going to let you guys take it."

The shock was apparent on her face, but Catherine moved past it quickly. "Good. Sara, you worked the Holcomb case with Grissom, right? You and Nick go back and finish that one up. Warrick, you're the primary on Grissom's shooting, Sara and Nick will help you once they're done with their case."

"Wait a minute," Sara interjected. "Three CSIs on an open and shut case? And the Holcomb murder was done, Grissom said he'd finished collecting the evidence."

Catherine's eyes narrowed in anger at the younger woman. "Are you going to question everything I say while Grissom's-" she cut herself off and took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, I know you're all upset, but we need to keep working. The evidence in Jody's case may be collected, but it still needs to be processed. And as for the shooting, we need to make sure everything gets collected and processed by the book. We don't want to give the judge any reason to question the evidence, so I want to have at least two people present at all times. Okay? By the time you're done, shift will be over and hopefully Grissom will be out of surgery and we'll know more."

"You'll call if anything…" Warrick started but couldn't finish.

"You have to ask?" Catherine responded.

"Yeah, sorry."

The team turned around and walked slowly, their reluctance clear as they plodded away to the exit. Brass and Catherine watched in silence until they were gone, unconsciously moving closer together in support.

Catherine was the first to bread the silence. "We should find out where they took him."

Brass started out of his thoughts. "Yeah. Vascular surgery, right?"

The same woman at the counter gave them directions to the OR's empty waiting room where their silence resumed. Jim fidgeted on the couch and watched Catherine pace around the room's confines. He fiddled with the TV remote, but shut it off when the news interrupted some sitcom with the breaking story about a law-enforcement employee shot on the job. Leaning forward with his head in his hands, he reviewed the past few hours, looking for anything that should have clued him into Gil's danger.

"It wasn't your fault," Catherine spoke up suddenly. Brass raised his head to find her watching him, her pacing stopped. "Sheriff Atwater called and told me what happened, how you went to the scene when Grissom didn't return when he should have. You probably saved his life."

"I'm a detective, Catherine. I should have known something was going to happen. Maybe the shooter was our suspect's accomplice, or maybe a burglar's been working that neighborhood-"

"Or maybe it was one of those terrible, random things that happen every day," she interrupted firmly. "You can't know everything that's going to happen."

"Hell, Catherine, I should know better than to let Gil go to any scene alone. Between leaving his gun behind, and confronting serial killers, and who knows what else he hasn't told us-"

"He had an officer when he arrived, right?" she interrupted again.

"Yeah, O'Reilly had an interview in the area so I asked him to clear the scene first." He leaned back against the back of the couch and groaned with the tension. "Okay, I see your point, but I still feel like I missed something."

"Well, this is your case, so if-"

"Oh, damn, what time is it," he groaned. He was shocked when his watch showed that just over an hour had passed since Grissom had been shot. "I need to call the station, see if they've finished booking the shooter." He punched the number into the waiting room's phone then ran his free hand over his head while it rang. "This is Jim Brass, I'm calling on the status of the guy arrested earlier for the shooting of Gil Grissom, uh huh, right. What!" he yelled abruptly.

Catherine crossed her arms across her middle and leaned against the wall across from Brass and waited.

"Are you sure? Yeah, yeah, okay, page me if anything else comes up." He hung up the phone and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"What?" Catherine snapped impatiently.

"You're not going to believe this," he bit out irritably. "The shooter has apparently had a psychotic break. He was banging his head against the cell wall so they had to call in a doctor sedate him. They're taking him to the loony bin for observation now."

"Damnit, this guy's gonna get off with an insanity plea, isn't he!" Catherine protested. "Well not on my watch." With a few steps she was at the phone Brass had just used and made her own call. "Hey Warrick, I just got word that the shooter may be trying for an insanity plea. Yeah, that was my reaction. Make sure you- oh, you know what to do, just make sure we can nail this guy, all right? No, no word yet, I'll let you know as soon as we do." She set the phone into its cradle and dropped onto the couch next to Brass. "This sucks."

He chuckled. "This isn't exactly my idea of a good time, either."

Both grew somber again. Brass looked at the clock, trying to figure out how long Grissom had been in the operating room and Catherine resumed her pacing.

"He's going to be all right," she announced.

He raised a brow at her statement. "Yeah, sure," he agreed.

He leaned into the cushions and let his eyes close. Catherine left the room to continue pacing the hallway, eventually returning with a cup of bad vending machine coffee. Brass considered leaving to get his own, but changed his mind when she grimaced at the first sip. Instead, he picked up a magazine from the table and made a half-hearted attempt to focus on an article about the Green Bay Packers.

And so they passed the two hours of waiting, with Catherine pacing and Jim fidgeting, until a man in blue scrubs walked in and they both looked at him, frozen. "Ms. Willows, Mr. Brass?" he asked.

"How is he doctor," Catherine asked, then held her breath.

"Mr. Grissom made it through surgery, and his vitals are returning to normal." Both sagged with relief, Catherine leaning against the wall for support. "The bullet missed the artery," the doctor continued, "but hit a large vein which caused the rapid blood loss. We were able to repair the damage however, and I expect him to make a complete recovery."

"How close was it," Jim asked hesitantly.

"Close. If you had been a few minutes later…" the doctor's voice drifted off, sparing them the grisly details.

"When can we see him?" Catherine asked.

"Once we're sure he's recovered from the anesthetics, he'll be moved into a private room. I'll have someone get you when it's time."

"Thanks, Doc," Brass said as he rose from the couch and extended his right hand.

The doctor smiled and shook the offered hand. "Don't thank me, thank the patient, he did all the hard work. He's a fighter, I have no doubt he'll do just fine."

Catherine ran over to the phone as the doctor left the room. "I gotta tell the others, they need to know, and oh my god, his mother, how the hell am I gonna tell his mother!" She froze and looked at Brass with panic in her eyes.

He stepped closer and gripped her arms. "Hey, calm down, it'll be okay," he said, giving her a slight shake in emphasis. When the panic didn't subside he pulled her close into an awkward embrace.

"Oh my god, Jim," she cried into his shoulder. "We were so close to losing him."

"But we didn't, okay?" He rubbed her back tentatively. "That's the important thing. Gil's gonna be fine, and we'll nail the son-of-a-bitch who did this to him, and in no time he'll be back at work as annoying as ever, right?" He felt her nod against his shoulder. "Now as much as I'm enjoying this little hug of ours, don't you have some good new to spread?"

She laughed wetly. "Yeah, sorry." She pulled away and wiped the tears from her eyes. After a few deep breaths, she tugged on her shirt hem to straighten the wrinkles and composed her face. "Okay, let's do this."

TBC

A/N: I've already started the next chapter, so you should see it in a day or two


	3. Waking up

The first thing Grissom noticed was the itch on the back of his left hand. His right arm moved reflexively to scratch it, but his shoulder immediately erupted with pain and a groan escaped his lips.

"Sh, take it easy," a woman spoke softly.

He cracked his eyes open slowly. The bright lights were harsh on his retinas, but the dark shadow looming over him looked familiar. "Catherine?" he croaked. He coughed to clear his throat but the roughness only grew worse.

"Hey, I said take it easy," the woman said again, louder this time, and he decided it was definitely Catherine. He blinked his eyes a few times as they grew accustomed to the light and the room began to gain focus. "Water?" she asked. He nodded and she picked up the cup from the side table, holding the straw to his lips so he could drink without moving. Only then did he realize the bed had him propped up enough so that he didn't have to lean forward to drink comfortably.

"What…?" he started to ask when the straw was taken away. His tired mind grasped for the question he needed to ask, but it slipped away before it reached his mouth.

"You're at Desert Palm," Catherine told him. She watched him sadly for a moment, her hand reaching out to stroke his temple before continuing. "You've been out of it for more than a day. You'd stir every once in a while, and I think you talked in your sleep a bit, but this is the first time you've actually looked awake since…"

His vision growing clearer, he was shocked at how worn she looked. "Have you been here the whole time?" he asked, his voice clearer but still rough.

"No, we've been taking shifts." She smiled faintly at him. "You really scared us, you know? Do you remember what happened?"

He furled his brow in concentration. "There was a gun," he mumbled. "At the scene, he surprised me. Fromansky!" he remembered suddenly and tried to sit up. "Fromansky and Murdock. That poor kid, they-"

"Hey!" Catherine interrupted and put her hands on his shoulder to hold him down. "Calm down, okay? You're going to get the doctor called back in here and he'll kick me out."

Grissom nodded in acquiescence, suddenly feeling as though all the energy had been sucked out of him and his shoulder began to throb.

"Now, what about Fromansky and Murdock? You're talking about the police officers, right?" she asked once his was still.

"They showed him the pictures," he mumbled. His eyelids felt like heavy weights as they slid closed.

"Gil? What pictures?" Catherine pressed, but he'd fallen asleep. She stroked his temple again, comforting herself more than the sleeping man. "That's okay, you rest and get better."

Jim walked in on the tender moment. "Hey Catherine," he said from the room's entrance. "How's he doing?"

She pulled away from Grissom's bed slowly and joined him in the doorway. "He was awake for a few minutes," she told him quietly.

"Did he say anything about the shooting?"

"Yeah, I think so." She rubbed her face tiredly and leaned against the frame. "He remembered a gun, and I think he remembered the shooter, but then he started talking about Fromansky and Murdock and got really upset. I guess he tired himself out because he fell asleep right after that."

Brass stared at her curiously. "Fromansky and Murdock? He thinks they shot him? Are you sure this isn't part of some drug induced dream he had?"

"Hell, I don't know. Coulda been. He said something about them showing the shooter pictures? Anyway, I can't follow Grissom's thought process when he's lucid, much less when he's drugged to the nines."

"Yeah," Brass chuckled slightly. "I know what you mean. Probably a good thing too or I'd have to worry about your sanity."

"Hey," a weak voice called from the hospital bed. "No teasing the sick guy."

"Sorry," Brass said as he walked over to the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Not your fault," Grissom muttered.

"You're shoulder hurting?" Catherine asked. At his nod, she placed a small box with a button in his left hand. "This is for your morphine drip. And this," she pointed to another button, the wire looped around the bed's railing, "is to page the nurses. Which reminds me, I called them the first time you woke up but haven't heard back yet. I'll go see what's keeping them." She gave him a pat on his uninjured shoulder before leaving.

Grissom lifted the hand with the button, examining the back where the IV needle was taped down.

"How do you feel?" Brass asked after an awkward moment.

"Like I ran ten miles and stopped in front of a speeding semi."

"Ouch."

Grissom's examination moved to the sling holding his right arm immobile.

"So, uh," Brass began hesitantly. "How much do you remember about what happened yesterday?"

With his brow furled, he thought a while before answering. "It's vague," he finally answered. "I have these images, but parts are blurry…" His face started to tighten even more as he concentrated, staring straight ahead.

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure it's all the drugs they have you on right now," Brass assured him. "We have enough to hold the shooter now, I can wait a few days before taking your official statement."

Grissom nodded, but didn't relax. "There was something I needed to remember," he mumbled. "Something I needed to tell you."

"Your system's had quite a shock, Mr. Grissom," the doctor spoke up from behind Brass. "Between that and the drugs, you'll feel like you're out of it for a few days. Which is fine, because your only job is to rest and let your body heal itself." He walked around the bed to inspect the wound. "I'm Doctor Schultz, I was the vascular surgeon on call when you were brought in."

"What's the prognosis?" Grissom asked as the doctor pulled off the dressing.

"Well, the wound is healing as it should, and there's no sign of infection. The bullet caused some muscular tissue damage, which will heal with physical therapy. In fact, if it wasn't for a torn vein causing you to almost bleed out, you'd be walking out of here tomorrow."

He nodded faintly, his energy waning again.

"How long will it take to recover?" Brass asked.

"It's too early to say," the doctor told the captain. "Right now, he'll feel groggy and tire easily. If he falls asleep without warning, it's normal, don't worry. I expect him to fade in and out for a while." Sure enough, Grissom was dead to the world already. The doctor walked to the end of the bed and studied the chart. "In fact, he may not remember this conversation. Again, it's normal. Well, things are looking good. His BP is normal, temp is a bit higher than normal but not excessive, all tests look good."

"Yeah, uhm, there's something I've been wondering about," Jim said slowly. "Now, I'm not a doctor, but when I saw him down in the ER, he had a tube down his throat and a bag breathing for him. Is there any chance that there might be, you know…"

"Brain damage?" Schultz asked with an understanding smile. "No. He developed respiratory distress when his blood pressure dropped, but the overall effect was no worse than if you held your breath for too long."

"Good, good," he nodded. "That's one less thing I have to worry about."

The doctor made a few notes on Grissom's chart before looking up at Brass. "Your friend is going to be just fine, Captain."

"You're sure about that?" Brass pushed. "You're not going to hedge your bets, say something about 'barring complications' or anything like that?"

The surgeon studied Brass intently before answering. "If Mr. Grissom fails to follow directions, yes, he can cause complications that might lengthen or reduce his recovery. But that's true of every injury, even a paper cut can result in a fatal infection if left too long. Now, there is a very small chance the repaired vein could begin leaking, but we won't let him out of here until we're certain our repairs will hold."

"Thank you, Doctor," Catherine spoke from the doorway.

The doctor replaced the chart and turned to leave. "Have the nurse page me if you have any other questions," he offered as he left.

"Is something wrong, Jim?" she asked as she pulled him out into the hallway. "'Cause you were grilling that doctor like he was a suspect."

"No, I'm fine. Listen, I've got to go, there's some stuff I gotta get done at the station."

Catherine watched him for a moment. "Have you slept any?"

"A few hours, yeah. I'll be fine, I've run on less."

She nodded faintly in acceptance, but her disbelief was clear in her face. "Hey, if you need to talk about anything," she offered.

"Like I said, I'll be fine. Page me if his memory clears up," he instructed and stalked off.

Once he was clear of the hospital, Brass pulled out his cell phone and dialed the station. "This is Jim Brass, I'm calling about Grissom's shooter again." He waited outside his car while the information was pulled up. "Yeah, thanks." With a frustrated sigh he forcefully flipped his phone closed and threw it in the passenger seat. He dropped into the driver's seat and let his head fall forward to rest against the steering wheel. He stayed like that, considering his options, before pushing himself upright and starting the engine.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at the crime lab. It took another three minutes to find his target, the man peering into a microscope in one of the labs. "Hey Warrick," he called into the room. "You got a minute?"

Warrick looked up from the scope. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

"Is that from Grissom's case?" Brass asked, stalling.

"No, there was a DB in Henderson. Grissom's case is pretty much rapped up, and we have a confession for the murder too."

"That's good. Uhm, have you seen Grissom yet?"

"No, I'm due to take the watch in a few hours. Why, is something up?" He pulled the slide from the microscope and placed the evidence back in its envelope.

"No, well, kinda, he woke up about half an hour ago."

That pulled Warrick's attention away from the evidence. "Hey, that's great! How's he doing?"

"Groggy, getting lots of drugs. He was only awake for a few minutes. The surgeon says he'll be fine though."

"Have you told the others yet?"

"No, you're the first one I saw. Listen, uh, how's the investigation into the shooting going. You got enough to make sure this guy goes away for a long time?"

"Oh yeah, no problem. Gun with his prints, GSR on his hands, bullet matches the gun, we even found a few drops of Grissom's blood on the guy's sleeve. The holy trinity, man," Warrick assured him. "Between the evidence and your testimony, there's no way a defense lawyer's gonna get him off."

"What about an insanity plea?"

"Catherine mentioned something on the phone, what's up with that?"

"Our suspect flipped when we got him into custody, and we need make sure we can prove he was fine before the shooting. I don't want this guy to escape just 'cause he 'feels bad about it'," Brass bit out dryly.

"Hey man, I'm right there with you. O'Reilly traced the gun. It's registered to Jason Gary. Jason says our suspect asked to borrow the gun a few hours before the shooting, said he was really upset about something, so Jason gave it to him."

"Proving premeditation," Brass finished. "Thanks 'Rick. Let the other's know about Grissom, okay?"

Warrick watched as the detective left abruptly with no explanation and shook his head. Something was up with Brass, but he wasn't going to kill any brain cells figuring it out. Instead, he finished sealing up the evidence and left to find Sara and Nick.

He found them both in the break room, chatting about a case over left over Chinese. "Hey guys," he interrupted as he walked through the door. "I just talked to Brass, said Grissom was awake and talking half and hour ago."

"Awesome!" Nick cheered.

"We should go visit him," Sara added.

"I'd hold off on mobbing his room," Warrick cautioned. "Brass said he was only awake for a few minutes, he's still on a lot of drugs."

"Still, it's a good sign, right?" Sara asked. "I mean, he could be coming out of it any time now, right?"

"Relax, I'm taking the bedside shift in a couple of hours," Warrick told her, "and you know I won't leave you out of the loop. If Grissom gets so much as a sniffle, I'll page you. But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Brass asked me about our case against the shooter, sounds like he's angling pretty heavily for the insanity plea. I just want to go over what we have, make sure we can fight it."

"We've been over it five times already," Nick protested. "Just chill, okay? We have the guy, it's air tight, there's no way he's wiggling out of this one."

"Yeah, that's what I told Brass, but then I realized we're missing something."

"What's that?" Sara asked.

"Motive. Why was this guy in the house? Was he a friend of the Holcomb's? An enemy? Was this something personal against Grissom or did the guy have a grudge against the department? We know the guy got the gun ahead of time, but if we really want to nail him, we need to find out why. We get the why, we can prove he wasn't crazy."

"Well," Sara contemplated, "we can't talk to the shooter while he's under observation. Do we know if he has any family in the area? Or a job?"

"Uhm, no actually," Nick answered after a moment. "I don't think anyone's looked into his background at all. Why would they, we have rock solid evidence and a rock solid witness."

"But we're not dealing with 'did he do it', we're dealing with 'is he responsible'," Warrick interjected. "Now, I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to give this guy any leeway in court just because we thought we had enough."

"I'll check to see if he has any family in the area," Sara said as she rose.

"I'll find out where he works," Nick added as he did the same.

Looking around the empty room, Warrick told no one, "I'll check out his apartment."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N- Between my job, my car trying to fall apart and writer's block this story got stuck on the back burner, but two days ago it caught fire again and I finished chapters 4 and 5. So here they are!

Gil woke to a sharp pain in his shoulder as he felt someone lifting him up and away from the bed and released a startled gasp. "Sorry about that, just need to check back here for a moment," he heard his doctor say. He kept his eyes closed as the bandage was pulled off and a new one taped on. The hospital gown was pulled up into place and the doctor's warm hands guided him down until he was resting against the back of the bed again. Only when the pain was reduced to its usual throb did he open his eyes to see his doctor making a note in his chart.

"How do you feel today?" the surgeon asked when he finished writing.

Grissom considered his answer before answering, taking his time to compare the sensations he felt now with what he'd felt over the past couple of days. "The shoulder still hurts, but the whole body ache isn't as bad. And for the first time in two days I feel like I'm really awake," he added, faintly surprised.

The doctor smiled. "That's good, it means your system is recovering. A few more days and you can go home, and with another week or two of rest you can return to work," he added before leaving

He nodded with reluctant acceptance even as his mind went over everything he would be missing at work. What if they needed him? As their supervisor, he knew his team's strengths and weaknesses, and was well aware that they could handle any work that came in on their own, but he was so used to being involved, used to being there to lend a hand or give advice…

And at the lab he was useful. There was so little he could do from home, and if his current state of weariness and pain was any indication he would be able to do even less than normal. He gave a groan at the thought of hours wasted in bed, incapable of doing anything more than lying around watching lousy TV, all because of some punk with a gun.

Some punk with a gun and a lot of motivation, he remembered suddenly. He sat up too quickly and had to wait for the room to stop spinning before he could dial the number on the phone. "Hey Brass, it's me," he spoke into the mouthpiece. "I need to speak to you."

Jim Brass arrived fifteen minutes later, knocking softly on the door. Grissom had drifted off while he waited but was completely awake by the time the detective walked through door. He pushed the button to raise the back of the bed while Jim moved a chair over so they could talk face to face. Once he sat down he fiddled with the chair, shifting his weight and changing the angle.

"I don't think you can get anymore comfortable on that," Gil spoke after watching for a moment.

"Yeah, probably not." He settled into a position and looked at Grissom for the first time. "You look better."

"I feel better."

"That's good." He shifted around in the seat again. "So, you said you needed to speak to me. I assume it's about the shooting? 'Cause we got the guy who did it, we can wait until you're better to take your full statement."

"It's about something the shooter told me, why he did it," Grissom started, and Jim leaned forward to listen. "He told me two officers picked him up and interrogated him, accusing him of Jody's murder."

"Whoa, hold up a minute," Brass interrupted. "First of all, we've only had one suspect, the same guy your evidence nailed. And second, the guy is falsely accused so he gets a gun and goes nuts?"

"He told me the officers held him for fifteen hours, showed him pictures of the body, the scene, gave him detailed accounts of the rape and murder… How many seasoned officers were affected by this case? He's just a kid, Jim, he wasn't ready to deal with that. On top of that he had two police officers yelling that he did it, trying to force a confession, and he's convinced he's about to go to jail for something he didn't-" His tirade was cut off by a bout of coughing.

Jim poured a cup of water and handed it to him. "Okay, I can see where he might be coming from," he conceded while Gil recovered. "I'm not saying it excuses the guy, but I can understand why he was so upset."

"Not upset," Grissom corrected, his voice still rough. "He was completely freaked out. I don't think he was fully aware of what he was doing."

"All right, so did he give you any names?"

He nodded, clearing his throat slightly to delay. He knew what he had to say, he just wasn't sure of Brass's reaction. "Fromansky and Murdock."

There was no explosion, just a heavy sigh and a hand rubbed his eyes. "You sure about that?"

"I don't think he'll ever forget those names."

"Is there any chance he was lying? I mean, he goes to a crime scene with a gun for who knows what reason; maybe he was making it up. Both those officers were working the scene, he could've read their names off the uniforms."

"You didn't see him, Jim. I don't think he even had the capacity to lie."

Another sigh and Jim collapsed against the back of the chair. "You're not going to give this up, are you?" It was more a statement than a question.

Weariness started to pull at Gil and he knew he wouldn't be able to fight it for long. "Just look into, please," he asked quietly. "You don't have to say anything, or make any accusations. In a couple of days I'll be able to do more but by then the trail might be too cold."

"You're going to need more than a couple of days," Brass snorted. "All right, I'll look into it. But if I find anything that clears them, I want you to drop this, okay? The first time you chased after Fromansky he was cleared. The second time they ended up giving him an award. You go after him again and it's gonna look real bad on you, buddy."

"I know," Gil nodded.

"You always know, then you go and do it anyway. We'll have to talk about your survival instincts later when you're up to it."

"Thank you, Jim. I appreciate your help."

"Yeah, well, you can thank me by getting better."

A uniformed officer walked out of Jim's office and the captain scratched another name off his list. Only two remained and they matched the names of the cops waiting outside. 'This is it', he thought to himself.

"Murdock!" he called out. "You're next."

Officer Frank Murdock was young, hotheaded and cocky -- and off duty during the supposed interrogation. He strutted into the office as if it was his and tried to stare Brass down. Jim tried to ignore the attitude and pointed at the chair. "Take a seat," he told the officer. "This should just take a couple of minutes."

Murdock dropped into the seat. "What's this all about?"

"Settling a couple of details." He held out a photo array for the other to study. "Do you recognize any of these men?"

The officer took a moment to look at the pictures. "Sure, this guy," he said, tapping one in the middle. "When we responded to the call he was lurking around the Holcomb house. I was going to talk to him but he took off when the other car arrived."

"You and Fromansky were first on the scene, right? Why didn't say anything about him?"

"We did," Murdock protested. "We told the lieutenant as soon as he got there. He just blew us off."

"All right, I'll talk to him later. Send Fromansky in on your way out," Brass said, waving him away and leaning back in his chair.

The second officer walked in stiffly. "What's going on this time?"

"Relax, just filling in a couple of details," Brass placated. "I'm interviewing everyone involved in the Holcomb case. Do you recognize anyone in this array?"

Fromansky glared at Brass for a moment before looking down. "Him." He pointed to the same picture as Murdock.

"And where do you know him from?"

"He was watching the Holcomb house when we arrived, but took off pretty quickly." He stared at the picture for another moment before looking at Brass again. "This is they guy who shot Grissom," he stated. "You think he had something to do with Jody's murder?"

"There's no evidence that says he did."

"Well evidence or not," Fromansky said as he stood up. "All he did was give Grissom what he deserves."

Brass stood as well. "You care to explain that?"

"Grissom walks around making accusations left and right," he spat out. "He hides in his lab completely unaware of the real world. It's about time someone woke him up."

"Get out. We're done here."

Fromansky smirked at him before turning around to leave.

Jim waited until he was out of site before sinking back into his chair. He rubbed his forehead wearily as he studied the list he'd kept of the interviews. Out of everyone who'd worked at the Holcomb scene, Fromansky and Murdock were the only ones who'd seen the shooter. Neither of them had been on duty during the supposed interrogation, though a couple of others had mentioned seeing them around the station.

So what next? The kid's lawyer wasn't letting them talk to him. He could have a CSI dust the interrogation rooms for prints, but not without anyone noticing. Asking Fromansky and Murdock directly was out of the question.

"Hey, Jim," Sheriff Atwater spoke up from the doorway. "You got a minute?"

"Sure, I have a few." What now, he thought to himself.

The next morning found Jim back at in Grissom's hospital room and seated on the same hard plastic chair. "I have some news for you," he told the injured man once the greetings were out of the way. Grissom looked at him expectantly. "First of all, I did some digging around, and both Fromansky and Murdock were off duty at the time of the supposed interrogation, yet both were seen at the station. Plus out of all the officers involved in the Holcomb case they were the only ones who recognized your shooter, said they saw him hanging around the house when they first responded to the call."

Grissom nodded slightly. "That explains how they found him," he mused, staring off into the distance.

"Yeah, well, there's something else. Your shooter killed himself yesterday."

"What? What happened?" The sharp gaze was brought into focus.

"He hung himself. I don't know the details yet, but the dayshift is working the case."

"I didn't even know his name," Grissom said quietly. "I was so focused on the gun that I never thought to ask..." his voice trailed off.

"Eric Cooper," Jim told him and held out the folder he'd brought. "Warrick and the others did some digging, I thought you'd like to see this."

"Thank you, I do." He opened the folder and skimmed through the top page before looking at Brass again. "We can't let the get away with this, Jim."

"If you're right, I agree. But before you call out the hunt you have to be completely sure that they're the ones who did it. Do you even have an idea of what their motive could've been?"

"No," Gil admitted heavily, "Not yet."

"Look, you're going to be here for a couple more days. Take it easy, get plenty of rest, and when you're well enough the case will still be there." He stood up and prepared to leave. "I gotta get home and sleep, you want me to bring anything before I work tonight?"

"I already gave Catherine a list, she should be here soon."

"Good. I'll stop by tomorrow, see how you're doing," he said in parting.

"I'm going to find out who got to that kid," Grissom said just as he reached the doorway.

Brass turned to look at his friend. "Yeah, I'm sure you will."

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

When Grissom was finally released from the hospital Nick was there to take him home. "Catherine's gonna come by soon with groceries," he said as they walked inside. "She said she'd help clean out the fridge and stuff too if you need it, and if you want any help with the other household stuff, like vacuuming or dusting or whatever we're here to help."

"I'm not an invalid, Nicky," Grissom said in exasperation and sat down on the couch.

"No, but the doctor said that you're supposed to be taking it easy. Oh, that reminds me, I have something for you in the truck. Wait right here, I'll be back in a second."

He rolled his eyes but stayed where he was and tried to find a comfortable position on the couch that didn't pull at his shoulder. He didn't have to wait long before Nick returned with a paper bag, which was carried over to the coffee table in front of the couch.

"When I heard that you wouldn't be back at work for at least a week, I figured you'd probably get bored just sitting around the house so I got you this." He pulled out a tall, square bird feeder with a perch on each side. "It can hang off a tree if you have one, or I can get a post." He set the feeder on the table and pulled out a book from the bag. "And this is the best guide to bird watching ever. It's a bit technical for most people who just want a picture and a name, but I figured you'd find this more interesting."

"Hey Nicky," Catherine interrupted as she walked in, grocery sacks in her arms. "I have another load of groceries in the car."

"I'll get them," Nick volunteered and practically bounded out the door.

Catherine set the food on the kitchen counter then joined Grissom in the living room. "So that's his surprise," she mused, looking at the bird feeder and the book. "He was worried you'd get bored while you're stuck at home, but said that he had a surprise that would help," she explained. "He's been very excited about it all night, practically begged me to let him pick you up from the hospital."

"It's a nice sentiment," he said diplomatically.

Nick returned with the last load of groceries and Grissom stared at the number of bags. "How much do you expect me to eat this week?" he asked Catherine.

"I picked up a lot of pre-cooked items, stuff you just have to heat up, along with cereal, oatmeal, canned soup, things that are easy to prepare with one hand. Let's put these away Nick," she said, rising. "Then you can set up Gil's new toy."

Grissom shook his head at her mother tactics and leaned back into the corner of the couch, finally getting comfortable. He must have drifted off because it only felt like a moment before he felt Catherine sit down next to him.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink right now?" She asked.

"No, I'm fine," he answered, opening his eyes and sitting up. "Thank you for your help."

"No problem." She brushed back the hair at his temple. "Once Nick's done with the bird feeder we'll get out of your hair, let you rest." She watched him for a moment before embracing him in an awkward hug. "You really scared us, you know," she whispered.

He put his good arm around her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'll be fine, Catherine. In a week I'll be back at work, and the doctor said I shouldn't have any long lasting effects."

"Well, you take care of yourself, all right?" She pulled back and looked him straight in the eye. "Don't try to push it and come back before you're ready."

"I won't," he promised.

Nick came back in and the two made their goodbyes, finally leaving him alone. He leaned back and let his eyes close but rest didn't come. He gave up after a few minutes and dug around in his bag for his cell phone. Once he found it he called the police dispatcher. "Yes," he told the operator. "This is Gil Grissom of the crime lab, and I was wondering of either Officer Fromansky or Murdock were on duty this morning."

A ten-minute cab ride took him to the Walgreen's parking lot that was on the officers' patrol route. He sat on the curb at the far end of the lot which was empty. After a five minute wait the marked police car pulled up in front of him. Both men got out of their vehicle and Grissom stood up to meet them, keeping a neutral expression on his face.

"You wanted to see us?" Fromansky asked.

"I just need to ask you something," he told them calmly.

"You couldn't do this over the phone?"

"I need to do it face to face, but this should only take a minute. Before Eric Cooper shot me he told me that two officers interrogated him illegally, and he used your names, and I just need to hear that you didn't do it," he said quickly, not letting them interrupt.

"And you're going to trust some punk kid?" Murdock accused.

"I know we've never gotten along," Grissom said, looking at Fromansky, "But I'm sure you didn't do it. However, that's the reason he gave me while he was standing there with a gun in my face and I just need to know that he was lying. Tell me that you didn't do it and that's the end of it."

"You don't give up, do you," Fromansky spat out. "You've already tried to get me twice, do you think the third time's the charm? We'll see what the sheriff has to say about his."

Murdock shot him a fierce glare and walked around to the passenger side of the car, but Fromansky wasn't done yet. He walked over so that he and Grissom were toe to toe. "You scientists think you're so smart, so superior, sitting behind your desks with your degrees and fancy equipment." He shoved Grissom in his injured shoulder with the palm of his hand and Grissom couldn't suppress his gasp of pain. "You should know the danger that's out there now, but you still don't appreciate us. Maybe you'll realize our value when one of your CSIs lies dead because an officer wasn't there to do the dirty work."

Grissom waited for the officer to get into the car and drive away before he dropped to the ground. He put his arm over the injured shoulder protectively though it didn't actually help the pain. After a few minutes the throbbing subsided and he dug out his cell phone, dialing a familiar number. "Jim, call me as soon as you get this," he said when it went to voice mail. "I think I know why Fromansky and Murdock did it."

He hung up and put the phone away, then looked around for a place to wait. He decided on a coffee shop a couple of blocks down the street and started walking, taking it slow. He hadn't gone far when his phone rang with Brass's number on the display. "Are you screening your calls?" Gil asked with a small smile.

"Some of us are still working at night," Jim growled. "What's so important you had to drag me out of bed?"

"I think I found the motive."

There was a pause. "Where are you? Am I hearing traffic?"

"I'm on Colorado by the Walgreen's. Can you meet me at Starbucks?"

A muffled curse carried over the line and he heard Jim moving around. "Stay where you are, I'll be there in ten minutes." The call cut off.

Grissom dropped onto a nearby bus bench, leaning against the back for support. He used the time to relax and regain his energy so that when Brass's sedan stopped in front of the bench he was able to stand without any shakes. "Thanks for meeting me," he said as he sank into the seat.

"How did you get out here? You didn't drive, did you?"

"Not on these meds. I took a cab."

"At least you still have some sense," Jim grumbled as he took a right turn. "So what do you think was the motive?"

"You told me that they saw Eric lurking around the house when they first responded to the call, right?" Brass nodded. "I think they wanted to solve the case."

The detective turned that over in his mind for a moment. "Okay, that actually makes a lot of sense. Murdock is ambitious, thinks he deserves more respect than he's earned. Fromansky is pretty pissed off at you and would love to prove you wrong. So they see the kid, figure he's the killer, then try to force a confession out of him."

"According to the file you gave me, the Holcomb house is directly between Eric Cooper's house and job. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Say you're right, why couldn't this wait until tonight?"

"Fromansky said he was going to tell the sheriff."

"Is that what you were doing out here?" Brass exclaimed. "Confronting Fromansky and Murdock?"

"I told him I just wanted to hear him deny it for my own peace of mind," Gil explained.

"And did he?"

"No, he got defensive and said he'd tell the sheriff I was making false accusations about him again."

"Damnit Gil!" Jim yelled with a smack on the steering wheel. "I told you to keep this quiet, didn't I?"

"If he goes to the sheriff we can open an official investigation," Grissom pointed out.

"Unless he decides to suspend your ass instead," Jim argued.

"I can handle the sheriff."

"One of these days you're going to handle yourself into a new job."

The car was silent until they pulled into Gil's driveway.

"Go inside," Jim ordered. "Get some food, sleep, whatever, just take care of yourself. I'll head over to the station and keep an ear out. If I hear anything about Fromansky I'll give you a call."

"You can't expect me to sit around and relax while-"

"Just do it, Gil. There's nothing more you can do right now anyway."

He hesitated a moment, then nodded and unbuckled the seatbelt. He opened the car door but turned to Brass before getting out. "Jim, thanks, I…"

"Forget about it," Jim waved him off. "I'll call you later."

Grissom smiled faintly in thanks left the vehicle.

Two hours of sleep later he answered his phone with a groggy "Grissom".

"Hey Gil, you awake?" Brass asked.

"I am now."

"We have a meeting with the sheriff. Are you up for it?"

He rubbed at his eyes wearily. "Yeah, I can be there."

"Good. I'm already on my way, I'll be there in ten minutes to pick you up."

The line cut off and he flipped the phone closed, dropping it on the bed beside him. He gave himself a moment to gather his thoughts and energy before sitting up slowly, careful of his still sensitive shoulder. He was still dressed from the morning so he took the time to splash water on his face and run a brush through his hair. He considered changing his shirt but decided the blue button down he already wore was good enough. He was only meeting with the sheriff, it wasn't a court date.

He was slipping on his shoes when Brass rang the doorbell. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked as he walked through the door.

"No, not yet."

"Good, we have time to grab some food before the meeting and I'm hungry."

The diner they stopped at was nearly empty with only a few stragglers left from the lunch hour, giving them plenty of privacy. "So how are you feeling?" Brass asked once they were seated. "You seem to be getting around all right for a guy just out of the hospital."

"Still sore. I can't really use the arm for anything yet."

"Yeah, well, the guy had a .45, it leaves a pretty big hole. So, uh, how long are you going to need the sling?"

"I'm supposed to wear it full time for a few more days. After that I can start cutting back as I feel comfortable."

"That's good, it'll help when you need to sign all that paperwork at the office."

The waitress arrived to take their orders, breaking up the awkward conversation.

"So, you're back next week?" Brass asked after she left.

"Hope so."

"Are you looking forward to it?"

"Go ahead and say it, Jim, whatever it is."

"I'm just trying to figure out what how we should deal with this whole mess with Fromansky and Murdock."

"I'm the one who needs to deal with it," Gil countered. "I just thought you should stay informed since it involves two of your men."

"I've been involved since I started snooping around on your behalf, now what are we going to do?"

Gil paused before answering. "I don't think there's much we can do," he mused, "besides present our evidence to Atwater and hope he supports our investigation."

"We need to make sure we say that no accusations were made and that you gave them a chance to deny it first."

"It was a fishing expedition," Grissom pointed out. "You know it, Fromansky knows it, I'm sure Murdock knows it and I have no doubt the sheriff will figure it out."

"He'll suspect it, yeah, but the fact remains that you didn't tell anyone else, you didn't start rumors and if you did a little investigating, well, you have a damned good reason to," Brass said with a gesture at the sling. "Just be careful if you decide to play the pity card, you don't want the sheriff thinking you're irrational with pain or anything like that."

Grissom shot him a glare at the 'pity card' remark.

"Hey, between the two of us, I'm the people person and you're the person who keeps pissing off the sheriff," Brass defended. "If you want this thing to go down smoothly you could use a little coaching."

"All right, Mr. People Person, coach me," he said with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"I'm just saying that this is a touchy situation. If the sheriff thinks you're going off on a witch-hunt because of past issues it could put your job on shaky ground. Your job is your life, is it really worth losing over this?"

"Eric Cooper is dead, Jim," Grissom growled.

"If there are two bad cops on the force I want them out," Brass countered with equal force. "But I don't think you truly understand how fragile this whole thing is. Even if we get the sheriff on our side, we still have to deal with the rest of PD."

They were interrupted once again by the waitress who came bearing carrying their food. They ate quickly, quietly, with Jim watching the clock and Gil running through and organizing his argument in his head. All to soon it was time to leave and Brass signaled the waitress for the check. They maintained their silence while they settled the bill and left the restaurant.

"Remember," Brass said as they got into the car. "Don't piss off the sheriff, and keep away from Fromansky and Murdock. In fact, don't talk to them if you don't have to. A shouting match won't help our case."

"I know everyone says I'm politically tone deaf and have no people skills, but I'm not that bad," Gil protested.

"Yeah, sorry." He put the key in the ignition but hesitated before turning it. "This can get real ugly, Gil. Once we tell the sheriff there's no going back. Are you sure you're up for it now? We can always call and say you need a few more days, use the time to solidify our position," he offered.

"How? Fromansky is already talking to him, telling him about our 'false accusations'. The longer the sheriff hears nothing but their side the harder it will be for us to tell ours."

"You're right." He started the car and put it into gear. "Okay, let's do this."

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I said somewhere else that I would have this up by the end of February. Well, technically it's February 31, right? Anyway, here they are, the last two chapters of Politics.

"You have five minutes to tell my why I shouldn't fire your ass, Grissom," Atwater said the second they walked into his office.

Grissom frowned and glanced at Jim. He hadn't expected the sheriff to be so hostile so soon and wasn't sure how to begin. "I have very good reason to believe Officers Fromansky and Murdock illegally detained and interrogated Eric Cooper."

"The man who shot you," Atwater said. "Are you sure you're not just looking for someone to blame?"

"While he held me at gun point I asked him why he was doing it and he told me about the interrogation, and when I was in the hospital my team did some investigating, hoping to find a motive to beat an insanity plea, but they could find nothing." He pulled a file out of his briefcase and set it on the sheriff's desk. "Eric Cooper worked as a mechanic at a garage. He had no record, was a model employee and helped his mother pay the bills. Sixteen hours before I was shot, he disappeared. He missed work without calling, something he'd never done before. Fifteen and a half hours after that, he showed up at a friend's house and asked to borrow a gun. Mark White, the registered owner of the gun, said that Eric was crying and behaved as though he was scared for his life. Mark urged him to call the police but Eric refused and said that the police were the problem."

"This is a very interesting story Gil, but it doesn't lead me to believe that Fromansky and Murdock did anything wrong," Atwater said then looked at his watch. "You have three minutes."

"Fromansky and Murdock saw Eric Cooper at the Holcomb house when they arrived on the scene. They were the only ones who did so, but when they told their lieutenant he blew them off. Now, Fromansky has told me before that I underestimate the value of uniformed officers. I believe he saw this as his chance to break open the case to prove me and the lieutenant wrong. His record shows that he has a temper and a history of impulsive actions. I believe he and Officer Murdock tracked down Eric Cooper, picked him up as he left the house for work, then took him somewhere, most likely here at the station, where they spent fifteen hours screaming at him, showing him pictures of the crime scene, shoving pictures of the body in his face, describing the crime in graphic detail, and attempted to coerce a confession. And this was a very terrible crime, Sheriff."

"Yes, I remember." He looked at his watch again. "One minute left. And just how do you fit into this Jim?"

"I asked Jim to look into a few things while I was still in the hospital," Grissom answered before the detective could. "I also thought he should be informed since it involves two of his men."

"I checked the duty roster to see if they were on the clock at the time of the supposed interrogation and made a photo array to see if anyone involved in the Holcomb case recognized the shooter," Brass explained.

"So far you've given me theories, the words of a criminal and absolutely no basis to make formal charges against these officers," Atwater started but Grissom interrupted.

"You know me Sheriff, and that's not how I work. At no time have I made any accusations. If further investigation clears Fromansky and Murdock I will look elsewhere, but so far the only leads I have take me to them."

"Then what the hell happened this morning that they came running into my office claiming that you accused them of torturing that boy?"

"I did meet with them today," Grissom admitted. "But at no point did I actually accuse them of anything. I repeated what Eric told me and asked them if it was true. It was their chance to either deny it or explain that it was a gross exaggeration."

"Are you really that stupid?" Atwater asked, incredulous. "You've already named Fromansky as a suspect in two previous investigations, of course he's going to assume the worst!"

"They never actually denied that it happened," Grissom pointed out.

"And would you have believed him if he did?"

The door burst opened and Fromansky and Murdock stormed in. "What's going on here?" Fromansky demanded.

"We have the right to defend ourselves," Murdock added fiercely.

"Sit down and shut up, both of you," Atwater yelled. "For the record, you had your chance to talk without interruption and I was giving Dr. Grissom a chance to do the same, but even I have to agree that the two of you are acting awfully suspicious. And you," he turned his ire to Grissom. "I've ignored your fumbling people skills for a while now but I won't ignore you starting a war. You have twenty-four hours to come up with something conclusive, or-."

"What?" Fromansky yelled, jumping up. "You're going to listen to his sack of lies? Gil Grissom has accused me of committing crimes twice before. Both times I was cleared. It's obvious he's just going to keep pinning things to me until they stick!"

"And do you really think you're helping your case by breaking in here without permission?" Atwater shot back. "Or do you have something else to add?"

Fromansky glared at the room's occupants. "We're going to our union rep." He and Murdock stalked out of the office.

"Ah, Sheriff?" Brass said tentatively once they were gone. "Gil was just released from the hospital today and is still supposed to be resting most of the time, so twenty-four hours isn't a lot of time."

The sheriff studied Grissom for a moment and nodded. "Fine, you have forty-eight. But if you don't have anything by then you and I will be having a conversation about your place in this department."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Brass said before Gil could say anything, then grabbed his good arm and started pulling him out of the office.

"You're welcome. And Jim? See if you can keep him under control."

"Let's stop by my office," Brass said in the hallway. "There's something I want to show you, then I'll take you back home."

"Something regarding the case? What is it?" Grissom asked as he followed him into the office. "And I can't go home yet, I'm under a deadline."

"That's kinda what this is about. Take a seat," he pointed at the chair in front of his desk then opened a drawer in the filing cabinet. He flipped through several folders before pulling one out. "Here it is," he said, unfolding it and picking up a small stack of photos sitting on top that he handed to Grissom. "Do you know what those are?"

Grissom studied the photos for a moment, confused. "A shirt and suit covered in blood," he answered, looking up at Brass. "Whose are they? What case do they belong to?"

"They're mine and it's your case."

Understanding filled his face and he looked at the photos again from a different point of view. The white shirt and tan suit were a stark contrast to the dark blood staining the fabric. A part of his mind started calculating how many pints it would take to create such a stain but he shied away from thinking of the final number. "What's your point?" He asked finally, dropping the pictures onto the desk.

"The point is that a week ago I held you while your blood soaked my clothes. You almost died and yet I don't think it's made any impact on you at all. When you're on a quest for the truth you push yourself hard, too hard sometimes, and right now you can't afford to do that."

"I can take care of myself."

"Can you really?" Brass picked up the pictures and held them up. "That's your blood. You were so locked into the case that a kid with a gun snuck up behind you without you hearing a thing, and that was at a scene that was supposed to be safe. What happens if this isn't cleared up by the time you come back to work? What's going to happen if Fromansky and his buddies decide they're tired of you targeting the police force when something goes wrong and start leaving you alone at all crime scenes?" He paused to let his words sink in. "Look, I realize that if you're right, and you probably are, then Fromansky and Murdock are responsible for your shooting, but I don't want to see you get hurt or killed. There are better ways to do this."

"This isn't about the shooting, it's about Eric Cooper," Grissom argued.

"Fine, whatever," Brass said before he could continue. "The point is, you gotta be careful, with both your health and your safety, okay? Take care of yourself before the case."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Grissom nodded in mute acceptance. "I'll need to see the station's surveillance video's."

"Sure," Brass answered. "I'll get copies made and bring them over to you. In the meantime I want you to get some rest."

"You don't have to mother me," he protested. "I've already agreed to be careful and take care of myself."

"And I figure you'll need to be reminded at least once an hour. I know you, remember?" He dropped the pictures and grabbed a jacket.

"Fine, I'll go home and rest. How long do you think it'll take you to get copies made?" He asked as they walked out of the office.

"I'll get it started right after I drop you off."

"And you'll bring them over as soon as they're done?" Grissom pressed.

"If I'm too busy on a case I'll find someone who can," he promised.


	7. Chapter 7

Home again, Grissom went through the kitchen cabinets but nothing sparked his appetite. Instead he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and settled on the couch to run through the case. He had a good idea of what had happened, but how could he prove it? Eric Cooper was dead and therefore unable to speak for himself. He could print the interrogation rooms but finding Fromansky and Murdock's prints wouldn't be prohibitive. The station's surveillance tapes would hopefully show the officers with Eric but that still wouldn't prove that they tortured him. He rubbed his eyes wearily, certain he was missing something but he couldn't figure out what.

He was thinking about taking a nap when someone knocked on the door. He pushed himself upright and walked to it, wondering who it was. It was too soon for the tapes to be ready and Catherine had already taken care of anything he might have needed help with... He was still trying to figure it out when he opened the door and found two uniformed officers waiting.

"Dr. Grissom," said the older one, Garcia according to his nametag. "Captain Brass asked that we take you to the station to meet him."

Grissom eyed them warily. "Of course, just give me a moment to get my things."

He turned to go back and retrieve his cell phone and wallet but the two men stepped forward and each grabbed an arm. "I'm sorry sir," the other officer said. "There isn't time."

They pulled him out to the patrol car, pausing only to close the door, and Grissom was forced to follow to keep the pressure off of his injured shoulder. They patted him down quickly then pushed him into the back seat. "What do you want?" He asked but no answer came.

It soon became clear they weren't going to the police station when the car turned east instead of west. He knew it was useless but Grissom felt around the door anyway, hoping for some way to get it open, but of course there was none. Fifteen minutes later they reached the edge of the city, and another thirty minutes after that the pulled into a long unpaved driveway, stopping at an old, rundown ranch house.

Garcia opened the door, his hand resting on the grip of his gun as if daring him to try anything. Grissom climbed out carefully and kept his movement slow. The officers led him to the side of the house where the younger man opened the cellar doors. "Downstairs," Garcia said then followed Grissom down into the empty room while the younger officer stayed above. "Fromansky wants you to think about all the things that could go wrong to your CSIs if they lose the support of the police force. He says he's warned you before but you haven't taken him seriously. Hopefully this will show you that yes, he is serious."

"And you're going along with him? What about your oath to serve and protect?" Grissom argued. "Is Fromansky's reputation worth it?"

Garcia looked aside. "I don't want to see anyone get hurt but I'm tired of cops always getting blamed when something goes wrong. My last partner was a great guy, a great cop, but when he defended himself against a suspect who attacked him he was run out of the force because the attacker's father was a powerful man and according to him, my partner must have provoked him. And since a cop's word is useless these days there was nothing my partner could do to defend himself against the accusations. So no, I don't completely agree with Fromansky's methods but I agree that something has to be done."

"Blame has often fallen on the lower ranks, but the police aren't the only ones who have to deal with it," Grissom pointed out. "I've often been in trouble for doing my job or disagreeing with a superior, especially when a case involves a person of influence."

Garcia looked him in the eye, his expression hard. "Yeah, but you have a rep that lets you get away with it, you have all that fancy education and stuff. Cops don't have that." He turned around and jogged up the stairs, closing the cellar doors behind him. A moment later something scraped across the wood.

Grissom climbed the stairs and pushed against the doors but they didn't budge. He turned his attention to the dirt-crusted windows and found that they were too high. Even if he'd had two good arms and could pull himself up he probably wouldn't have fit through the narrow opening. He turned around and leaned against the wall, letting his eyes adjust to the murky light, and after a moment saw a second set of stairs in the far corner. At the top he found another door, which he suspected led to the house. The doorknob was locked so he pounded on the door with his fist, hoping to find a weak spot around the frame, but several of his knocks produced a solid thud - something was behind the door. Even if he managed to break or pick the lock he still wouldn't have been able to open it.

He walked halfway down the stairs and found an almost comfortable spot to sit and leaned against the wall carefully. But although his body was still his mind kept churning, trying to come up with a way to get out. He came up with nothing before he slipped into a light doze.

"Hey Grissom!" Brass yelled and pounded on the door. "Come on, I know you're tired but open the door!" He pounded again and waited. "I have the tapes and you're really going to want to see them!" He yelled after a moment. When he still couldn't hear anything pulled out his cell phone and dialed Grissom's number. Within seconds he could hear it ringing through the door and hung up. "Damnit Gil," he muttered as he turned around and left the porch. "Couldn't you've at least taken your phone?"

He stalked to the neighbor's door. "Excuse me," he told the woman who answered and held up his badge. "I'm looking for the man who lives next door. Have you seen him leave in the past few hours?"

"Oh," the woman said, blocking a young boy from going outside as she examined the shield. "Is he in any trouble?"

"Not at all," he assured her. "I just have some information he needs to have but he left his cell phone behind."

"I'm sorry, but I haven't seen him since the officers were here earlier," she answered, picking up the boy when he refused to be restrained. "If that's all, I'm a little busy right now…"

"Just one more question," Brass promised. "Did you get a good look at the officers? Or maybe the number on their car?"

She shook her head.

"Police car!" The boy said.

"Yeah, that's right," Brass told him with a smile. "Did you look at the police car when it was here?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

"Good. And did that police car have any numbers on the side?"

He nodded again. "1 2 3 4," he said firmly.

"You sure?" Brass asked and looked to his mom for help.

"Honey, are those the numbers you saw on the car or are you just counting?" She asked the boy.

"1 2 3 4," he said again. "Just like this." He reached into a back pocket and pulled out a toy police car, complete with 1234 on the side. "But the one had a bigger line on top."

"Thanks buddy," Brass told him. "You've been a big help."

"Is something wrong?" The woman asked and gripped her son a little tighter.

"Not at all, just some miscommunications," he assured her. "Thank you for your help and have a nice day."

Grissom woke up when the cellar doors opened again. He stood up and walked to the bottom of the stairs, prepared to face whoever entered. He wasn't surprised when Fromansky and Murdock, both wearing civilian clothes, came down.

"People are going to be looking for me soon if they aren't already," he pointed out to his captors.

"How many times have you wandered away from a crime scene without telling anyone?" Fromansky scoffed. "By now, no one thinks it's strange. They'll wait before calling out the search parties, which gives us plenty of time."

Grissom had to admit they were right. "What do you hope to accomplish?"

"We want you to drop your investigation," Fromansky answered. "Tell the sheriff you couldn't find any proof."

"I can't do that."

"Do I have to remind you again of what could happen? Have you really thought about it? Imagine one of your CSIs, say Willows, is investigating a rape. She confronts a suspect at his home where he grabs her and takes her inside. Oops, the police got distracted. They don't notice she's gone for a full two minutes. Now what do you think a rapist is going to do with a fine woman like CSI Willows?"

"Are you truly willing to put someone else's life on the line because of the truth?" Grissom asked. "Do you really expect the entire police department to stand behind you once they learn what you've done?"

Murdock growled and pulled a knife out of his back pocket. "No one will know if you can't speak!" He said as he stepped forward, slashing with the knife. Grissom raised his left arm in defense; the knife went through his sleeve and into the skin.

Fromansky grabbed Murdock's arm and pulled him back. "Not yet," he hissed in his ear then turned back to their captive. "Think about it, Grissom. Think about Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, Sara Sidle, Catherine Willows, even your little lab rat trainee Greg Sanders. Think about the dangers they face on the street and what could happen without backup. Do you really want to be responsible?"

"I can't be responsible for your actions," Grissom gritted out, holding his injured arm close. "But I also know that there are a lot of good people on the force, officers who won't let politics interfere in their duties. I have thought about what could happen ever since you first threatened me during the Kleinfeld case, and I don't think you realize that not all cops are like you. Most of them believe in their oath to serve and protect. They didn't join the force in an attempt to feel more powerful."

"I joined to do my duty," Fromansky protested fiercely. "Just like I joined to do my duty in 'Nam. But all the rules and restrictions make that real hard to do when the perps have more protection than we do."

"We all have rules to follow and those rules protect the innocents, the ones we're here to serve."

"He's never going to understand," Murdock told Fromansky as he sheathed the knife and put it away. He reached under his shirttail and pulled out the gun tucked in his waistband.

Fromansky stopped him with a touch. "This is your last chance, Grissom. Is it really worth ruining a lifetime of hard work for one mistake?"

"Was Eric Cooper's life worth ruining?" Grissom asked back.

"We had reason to think he was guilty."

"You had only the barest of circumstantial evidence. That's how the rules protect the innocent."

"You're going to have casualties in any war," Fromansky said.

"And you're going to be one unless you know which side to fight for," Murdock added, raising the weapon.

"Are you willing to risk your life for one case?" Fromansky asked.

Grissom glared at the two men and straightened up, forcing his injured arm to relax. "I won't give up."

The air was tense and silent except for their breathing. Grissom stood tall, almost daring them to shoot. Murdock held the gun steady, aiming for Grissom's heart. Fromansky stared at Grissom as if trying to decide whether shooting him was the only option left.

Eventually Fromansky turned to Murdock and Grissom held his breath, waiting for the command to shoot, but before he could say anything another voice sounded down the stairs, yelling "Police!"

Murdock turned towards the sound and Grissom moved, running forward and tackling him from the side so that they fell into Fromansky as well. The police, led by Brass, ran down the stairs with guns drawn and Grissom rolled away to give them room.

Brass watched a moment to make sure Fromansky and Murdock were cooperating then knelt down at Grissom's side. "We gotta stop meeting like this," he said with a faint smile.

Grissom chuckled then groaned, gripping his injured shoulder. "Good idea," he said roughly.

"Did they hurt you?"

"Just a cut, but I don't think tackling suspects is what the doctor had in mind when he said 'take it easy'."

"Can you get up?" At Grissom's nod he helped him stand. "Come on, let's get you checked out."

"How did you find me?" Grissom asked as while they waited in the ER.

"Neighbor's kid saw the car that picked you up and remembered its number. At first Garcia denied everything, said he'd been in a different car, but when I showed him the tapes from the station's surveillance he rolled."

"What did the tapes show?"

"Fromansky and Murdock dragging the kid through the station and into an unused office, then back out again hours later. Warrick and I checked out the office, it'd been stripped and made into a pretty convincing interrogation room. We also found fingerprints from all three men in there."

"No wonder they were so desperate for me to drop the case," Grissom mused. "They knew the evidence would be easy to find."

"Grissom?" The nurse called and the two men stood up to follow her.

"Let's get you stitched up and I'll take you home. You're going to actually stay there this time, right? No more running around?"

"Yes, Jim. I think I might even be ready for a vacation."

Jim clutched at his chest but he ignored the detective's theatrics and followed the nurse into the room.

End


End file.
